Free Fall
by toy.gun
Summary: Mila, a Xandarian who is member of the Nova Corps, gets captured by Ronan the Accuser.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

There were worse places to be stationed at than the Kyln. Personally, she didn't know any, but her mother used to tell her stories when she was little about vast dark spaces beyond the Crunch, filled with monsters and terrifying machines.

As it was, the Kyln was both good and bad. It provided energy for other planets, but it imprisoned many of their inhabitants.

Most of them were criminals or warlords who belonged here, but Mila wasn't certain everyone _deserved_ to be here.

Take the new prisoners, for example. They seemed, well...different. One of them was a large, walking, talking tree. The other was some kind of raccoon. Very foul-mouthed. Then there was the famous Gamora, the Green Assassin Lady, whose name and reputation even _she_ had heard of. Someone of her skill would not end up behind bars. And lastly, there was the Terran, Peter Quill, who, out of all, stuck out the most. He just didn't give you the impression that he could seriously harm anyone. Troublemaker, sure, but killer? No.

The rest of the people in her section started making bets on which of them would survive longest. Most of them thought Gamora would be the first to go, since so many prisoners wanted to see her dead. They gave her three days, at the most. The rest, they gave five.

Mila was asked to bet too.

"I bet...I bet they'll make it. All of them. For a month."

She had said it in order to spite her colleagues, but they only laughed.

"You have to bet units, Mila."

"Fine. Twenty units on their victory, then."

It was the most interesting topic they'd had in a year. It was surprisingly dull living in an intergalactic prison.

The Kyln was split up into upper levels, where the administration, information and security sections were housed, and lower levels, where the actual prisoners were held.

Mila had been scared the first couple of months because, despite this divide, some of the galaxy's most dangerous and powerful entities were locked up only miles away from her bedroom, but soon, she realized she was living in the most secure fortress in existence where everything was controlled and simulated, and she gradually became accustomed to the Kyln.

Now and then, she was called up to the lower levels where she would accidentally have to interact with some of the prisoners, but nothing bad ever came out of that. Unlike her fellow corpsmen and corpswomen, she was in the useful habit of smiling at the prisoners. It was more of a polite reflex, but it helped when you were trying to convince a ten-foot tall behemoth that you meant well.

That night, as she was lying in her cot, thinking about the bets they had placed and whether hers would come true, she was startled by a strange sound coming from the administration deck.

She wobbled to the bay window and looked at the outer hallway. It looked empty, but she could hear commotion further down the pod.

Dressing up quickly and picking up her blaster, she ran out of her room only to bump into corpsman Rhomann Dey.

He was walking briskly in the direction of the administration deck and didn't stop for her even when she called after him.

"Corpsman Dey! Sir! Has there been an emergency?"

Rhomann was her superior and could choose to ignore her, but Mila knew he was just distracted. She trailed after him.

As they got closer and closer to the deck, the sound became clearer and she realized what it was. She just couldn't believe it. The security measures had been activated.

Those hadn't been in use in at least a couple of years, if not decades.

"Get on your spiraulic with the rest of the team and get ready for an ambush. There's chaos among the prisoners," Corpsman Dey told her over his shoulder.

Mila nodded her head and broke away from him, running down the deck to the transportation area. Several of her colleagues were already there, looking just as alarmed as her.

"Do you think it's serious?" one of them asked.

"It's probably just some stupid malfunction in the security system," another replied.

"Only one way to find out," Mila said, placing both hands on the levers of her spiraulic.

They all seemed to get on their vehicles at once. You could see them flying like a swarm of insects from the upper levels of the corps-pods to the lower level of the prison-pods.

Mila felt the artificial breeze running through her hair. She had forgotten to pull it up in the usual Nova Corps fashion. She wondered if the new prisoners would be found in the general commotion, or whether they would be huddled up in their cells, away from danger. She wondered if there had been a fight. She wondered if they were the reason for it.

But all that vanished from her head when they reached the lower levels.

The security section was already there, working diligently to control and desist the turbulence. Inmates were running amok, screaming and kicking whoever stood in their path, blasters were shooting everywhere, and one of the guard towers had been taken over. The corpsmen were aiming all their weaponry at it in an attempt to force the prisoners to come out.

Mila looked up at the tower's window and was shocked to see Gamora's green complexion reflected in it. Next to her, she could see Peter Quill.

_It's them. It has to be them. All of them._

Her thought process was interrupted when she saw one Sakaaran inmate running at her. She pulled out her blaster and fired at him, aiming for his legs in order to disable him. He lunged at her, but he was already on his knees.

She was about to hop off her spiraulic, when suddenly, her foot only hit air.

She was free falling.

And then, she was up in the air and everything and everyone around her was floating.

It took a few moments to realize what was happening. The Sakaaran prisoner was flying up past her towards the ceiling, screaming obscenities.

The artificial gravitation had been turned off.

Mila almost wanted to throw up.

She could see her body stretching in odd ways, her feet dangling clumsily, her hands waving spasmodically, but she could do nothing about it. She closed her eyes and focused on staying still. It would be a long night.

* * *

_**A/N**: Hello, I'm new here, I guess. I was compelled to get an account and start writing thanks to the Guardians of the Galaxy and Marvel in general. This story largely ignores the comic books, sorry, so it won't include Ronan's wife or elements of backstory outside the movie, mainly cuz it would be too tricky and the MCU is too big. So yeah, this is just an attempt. You'll decide whether it's good or not._


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Someone was pulling her hair. It was one of the inmates, a muscly, yellow-skinned Aakon. He was trying to use her to get to a higher floor.

_Rude!_ Mila thought, elbowing him in the ribs. His nails dug into her scalp. She kicked him with her left heel.

She couldn't inflict too much damage; his constitution was too strong. She only hoped to get him off her.

The Aakon wasn't giving up. He snarled at her. "Xandarian scum!"

He raised his fist, she blocked him.

"Stop it! We have to work together! Can't you see there's no gravity? I need your help and you need mine!" she yelled.

He stared at her as if she'd grown a second head.

"Yes, you heard right, I'm not the enemy! I am here to protect you, actually."

The Aakon inmate suddenly became self-conscious. He let go of her and scratched his head.

"I don't trust Xandarians."

"I'm a Nova first, Xandarian later. _Now_, help me get my blaster. I won't shoot you, that would be bad manners. What we are going to do is get you to safety. We can't have you escape, because you'll die."

The Aakon nodded his head with some hesitation. He still didn't trust her, but seemed to be out of options.

Her blaster was floating several feet away. He gingerly retrieved it for her.

Mila shot a hole through one of the prison walls and, urging him to follow her, went deeper inside the prison pod.

She could hear more blasts and shouts behind her, but she had to focus on finding a surveillance room.

She checked her wrist. One message was written on her portable server in plain red:

_PRISONERS HAVE ESCAPED_

So, the ragtag team of misfits had gotten out after all. She should have been angry or disappointed, but she was almost secretly glad.

At least something was happening at the Kyln.

Her new Aakon friend was asking her questions.

"Where are we going? Why are you doing this? Do you know who those prisoners are -?"

"Slow down a bit, will you? We're going to try and fix this gravitation mess first," she explained over her shoulder.

Just then, a shot went over her head and almost hit her. Luckily, the Aakon pulled her aside in time.

"Thanks," she said, flashing him a smile. "See? Cooperation is optimal."

She liked to think the Nova belief system wasn't as corrupt and naïve as the rest of the galaxy deemed.

The two of them dodged more angry inmates and reached one of the surveillance rooms in moderate safety. Mila only boasted a few scratches but the Aakon sported a nasty bruise under his ribs.

"I'll have to take you to the medical pod, afterwards. Although, I figure you won't be the only one there," she told him as she surveyed the surveillance room. It was predictably empty.

Mila went to the control board and tapped into the operating system. She scanned through the facility's various features, but she was having a hard time finding the artificial gravitation feature.

"So, what is your name?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Sargo."

"I'm Mila. Do you have a family, Sargo?"

But she never got an answer to that question.

The Aakon was shot straight through the head. Mila shrieked. She was staring into a pair of soulless black eyes. A female Luphomoid. She looked more robotic than humanoid.

"Nova Corps, I assume?" the Luphomoid asked briskly. She sounded vicious.

Mila gripped her blaster tightly. "You are under arrest for murdering a Kyln prisoner."

The Luphomoid sneered. "I'm trembling."

They were jolted suddenly by the return of the artificial gravity. Mila fell on her knees, but the enemy jumped through the air and landed on her feet.

Mila charged her blaster. The Luphomoid pulled out two swords.

"I need information, Xandarian. If you don't deliver, you will suffer a painful death."

At the last moment, Mila grabbed a demobilizer and threw it at her feet. The Luphomoid was taken by surprise. Her ankles were tied together. She fell down, her swords flying across the floor. Mila kicked them with her feet.

"I said you're under arrest. Now, raise your hands above your head and don't make any sudden movements."

The Luphomoid raised her arms. Mila removed a pair of cuffs from her suit, but she would have to put down her blaster in order to cuff her.

She was debating on how to proceed further, when she was kicked hard in the stomach. The Luphomoid punched her again and Mila shot a blast.

The Luphomoid was knocked down instantly, but she was not killed or disabled. Mila had been right about it being more robotic than humanoid.

"Well, that just sealed your death," the Luphomoid gritted, pulling back her unhinged jaw.

Mila spoke hastily into her portable server.

"I need backup on Corridor 13B89, Prison Pod No. 2. Subject has shot an Aakon prisoner. She is Luphomoid, female, purple-skinned, black-eyed and heavily armed. Anyone copy?"

No one answered her notification. Mila realized there were probably thousands of such messages coming from other Nova Corps struggling to get things under control.

She had to find her teammates. She couldn't handle this by herself.

_What is a Luphomoid doing here anyway? Did she come for the escaped prisoners?_

The blaster was suddenly wrenched out of her grip by a sharp blade.

She looked down at her gloved hand. It was bleeding.

She had the presence to dodge the other sword and it clanged loudly as it hit the wall behind her. The Luphomoid growled and charged again. Mila ducked and slithered on the floor, trying to reach her blaster.

The Luphomoid grabbed her by her hair and pulled her up, holding the blade to her throat.

"No more nonsense! Where did the prisoners go?" she hollered angrily.

Mila winced. "I don't know."

"Don't play dumb. _Where_ did they go?"

"I don't know! They disabled the artificial gravity and took off in the guard tower. I didn't exactly follow them!"

"You're useless to me, then."

"Wait! If you give us more time, we will find their coordinates. The Nova Corps will want to capture them just as much as you!"

"Right. Like I would ever help the Nova Corps."

"You should reconsider. We are professionals," Mila said and head-butted the Luphomoid.

The impact almost blinded her. The Luphomoid's head was made out of metal while hers was clearly not. The attack, however, gave her enough time to narrowly avoid having her throat cut.

She ran towards the exit as fast as her feet would carry her, but her perception was severely affected by the blow to her head.

She didn't make it very far. Her entire body collided against heavy armor.

Mila's blood froze in her veins.

Her blurred vision must have been playing tricks on her. The figure towering over her could not be _him_. But she recognized the blue Kreean skin, the black makeup, the headgear. She had seen his face on all the news-posts across Xandar.

He was dangerous. Very dangerous, in fact. A fanatic and an anarchist. He topped the list of most wanted men not only in the Nova Empire, but in the galaxy.

And he was _here_.

"You…" she trailed off in shock.

Ronan, the Accuser looked down at her for a brief moment and their eyes met. She was chilled by their intensity. They were not cold. No, they were warm, boiling with rage. She should have looked away, but her instincts were still numbed.

She was standing before the man who wanted to destroy her race.

"Nebula," he spoke, lifting his gaze to the Luphomoid behind her. "Why are you wasting my time with this _vermin_?

Mila put two and two together. The Luphomoid was working for Ronan, and _he_ was the one attacking the Kyln.

"I thought the Xandarian would know about the prisoners, but she is as stupid as her race."

"Then I should assume all Luphomoids are reckless because you are breaking intergalactic law by interfering with the Kyln's prisoners and staff," Mila replied formally, in an effort to hide her fear and impress on Nebula and Ronan the gravity of their actions.

"This one appears to have a tongue," Ronan said, his voice a rumbling threat. "She must not know my reputation."

Mila gulped. Of course she knew. Everyone _knew_. He wished to annihilate her kind. He acted out of passion and hatred. He was irrational. She had joined the Nova Corps because she believed in reason and cooperation above all things. How could she reach any kind of compromise with someone whose system of beliefs was in stark opposition to hers?

"You want the escaped prisoners, but you're wasting your time here. No one will be able to tell you anything. They were unanimously disliked by the other inmates and they fled without our knowledge," she spoke quickly, praying that he would see reason.

Ronan looked unimpressed.

"Why should I believe a Xandarian?"

"Because more Nova Corps teams are going to arrive soon and they will be better armed," she added, trusting that he would apprehend her meaning.

It was true that she had no idea how fast they would answer their call. The team stationed at the Kyln was small and generally ignored, but for Corpsman Rhomann Dey who held some sway in the capital.

Ronan suddenly bowed down and gripped her chin between his fingers. Her skin burned.

"Let them come. I will paint these halls with their blood. Just like I will do to you."

Mila tried to wrench her head away but his grip was stronger.

"Ronan," Nebula interrupted urgently. "The Nova Corps can't find out what we're after."

"Do _not_ presume me ignorant, wench," Ronan snapped at her. "We shall purge this place long before they arrive."

Mila's eyes widened.

"You can't!"

Ronan pulled her up by her chin and gripped her throat.

"You dare protest, Xandarian?"

Mila felt her air supply being cut short.

"My name is Mila Rael, I am a Nova Corps and I will not let you destroy this place!" she yelled with much more bravery than she actually felt. But her last words ought to be heroic, even if she couldn't be a hero.

Ronan seemed to pause. He was arrested by something she had said.

"Rael," he muttered. He nodded towards Nebula. "_The_ Rael?"

The Luphomoid checked her internal database. "Mila Rael. Age twenty-four. Junior member of the Nova Corps. Daughter of Irani Rael. Ronan…she's the Nova Prime's daughter."

Mila held her breath. She hadn't heard that appellative in years. She had rarely used it in the Nova Corps. She had always wanted to separate herself from her mother's renown and make a name for herself, but it seemed that this connection would be her salvation.

"So, I am holding the daughter of the most powerful leader in Xandar," he spoke with satisfaction. "I shall not leave empty-handed, after all."

Mila opened her mouth, but her words were cut off. Ronan knocked her unconscious. She fell into his arms like dead weight.

"We will make an example out of you and all of Xandar shall see how their leader falters," he spoke, surveying Mila's now peaceful features.

"And the Kyln?" Nebula asked, staring at the Xandarian with curiosity.

"Burn it to the ground."

* * *

_**A/N**: Hello again. I did not expect such positive responses, thank you! Also thanks to the anonymous reviewers **Guest**, **Anonymous** & **Yul**, I am very grateful. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! For anyone who has forgotten, Irani Rael is the Nova Prime played by Glenn Close in the movie._


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

The Dark Aster was not only a warship, but a flagship, at that. It was the home of the commander and therefore, the most important ship of the fleet. That was both a weakness and a strength.

Mila had been told by her Nova professors how important it was to take a flagship down. It was the measure of your enemy's power. And therein lay its flaw; since it was the most sought after, it was the most vulnerable to danger.

These facts and others Mila ran over in her head while she paced the confines of her cell room.

She had woken up hours before to find herself huddled in the corner of a bleak empty square. There were no windows. No door that was visible. The only light was provided by a thin neon strip on the ceiling. There was a ventilation hole she had tried to pry open without much success. There was also a semblance of a bed, but it was just a metal board covered with plasma that turned warm to the touch. Mila realized her teeth were clattering. It was very cold inside the cell. She was forced to sit on the board. But she could not rein in her patience for long. She got up and started walking in circles.

She had already guessed she was on the Dark Aster since she recognized the spiral butterfly symbol on the walls. They had studied warships in her third year of training, but she had not paid them much thought. Now, she scrambled for any information she could conjure.

They had unfortunately taken her portable server and stripped her of the Nova ensigns on her uniform. Now, it just looked like an ordinary travel suit. She felt naked without her familiar accouterments, but she could at least pull up her hair in the Nova fashion. It was one of the things she and her mother had in common. Although she never sported her mother's elaborate piece, she liked to preserve customs.

_Mother._ _What would she say now?_

"She would say I told you so," Mila realized with some chagrin.

The Nova Prime had insisted she should remain stationed in Xandar, but Mila had overridden her wishes and signed up for intergalactic posts. It had not been merely a rebellious decision, at the time. She had wanted to get away from her mother's influence. Everyone around her trod on eggshells and she was sick of it. Her first two years outside Xandar had been a blast. She had been stationed in the Keystone Quadrant, on Halfworld, and she had collected a lot of data on genetic and cybernetic enhancements which she had sent back home. She had had a lot of fun trying to learn the language of the natives and surfboard the Lorentz "sea" which was actually a vast electromagnetic field, enlarged due to some questionable experiments. But the holiday had ended all too quickly when she had been stationed the Kyln.

_Then again, the Kyln is a holiday compared to this_, she thought darkly.

Mila was trying not to sulk. Nothing good ever came out of that. Bad thoughts needed to be chased away. The Nova mindset was solid in that respect. Optimism, cooperation, reason.

She had to keep a positive outlook on things. Ronan would not kill her. He might be unpredictable, but he was not stupid. He had had opportunity to end her life and he had, instead, bet on her connections. He _would_ try to use her mother's position, but Irani Rael was a formidable leader. She wouldn't cower under his demands just because he had her daughter.

_Would she? …And do I want her to?_

The second question surprised Mila. She shook her head harshly. _No_. It was selfish to want to be saved at the expense of a lunatic's agenda. She just had to repress those infantile instincts that made her yearn for her mother's protection.

The better question was, how would she negotiate with him?

She had to find out what Ronan _truly_ wanted. He couldn't _possibly_ just wish for Xandar's extinction. There had to be more to it.

And what about the escaped prisoners he was after? The group of misfits? Gamora had been among them, and she was one of Ronan's followers, wasn't she? If he had come to rescue her, why had she not waited for him? It didn't make sense. Unless, there had been a falling out between them.

In the midst of these thoughts, she hadn't noticed she had grown very cold again. Her fingers were stiff and her breath a steam. But if she sat down on the warm plasma, she would surely fall asleep and that was dangerous.

At length, unable to chase the cold away, she had to sit down on the bed. She drew her knees to her chest and started reciting star systems, along with their subsystems and constellations. She felt warm tears smarting at the corners of her eyes. She remembered how she would recite them happily, sitting on her mother's desk while she worked. She may not have always listened, but at the end, her mother always clapped. Mila wiped the tears away quickly.

If only the senior Nova officers could see her now. They would surely laugh. And they'd be right to laugh.

She had almost fallen asleep when one of the walls suddenly disappeared and a sheen of bright light pierced her eyelids.

"Get up. Ronan wants to see you."

It was the Luphomoid from before. Nebula.

Mila surveyed her with some apprehension. She looked just as malcontent as the last time she had seen her on the Kyln. She sported fewer weapons, though, but Mila was not sure whether that was a good sign.

"I don't have all day. Move."

Mila followed Nebula into a brightly lit corridor. She could now see her room was part of a long row of cells. She wondered if they were all occupied. Guards were posted at every entrance and exit. They were Sakaaran, judging by their insect-like features.

"Don't just stare. Walk," Nebula ordered and pushed Mila forward. Two Sakaaran guards unglued themselves from their post and followed them.

Now that they were not engaged in combat, Mila could look over Nebula's cybernetic replacements. Although her scowling expression marred the general effect, the Luphomoid was a wonder to behold. Her artificial limbs were so meticulously fit and so flexible. Whoever had designed them had also made sure they molded with the Luphomoid DNA. The natives of Halfworld would have been very impressed. There was something vicious about it, but there was also something -

"Beautiful," Mila blurted out, almost reaching out to touch the texture.

Nebula reached for her swords. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Sorry. I was just admiring your built."

"My what?"

"Your cybernetic replacements. Brilliant."

Nebula sneered, but she looked more confused than upset. "Keep your eyes to yourself."

"I – I guess I should thank you, scars and all," Mila started, hesitantly.

Nebula once again was caught off guard.

"We have our differences, but you did save my life."

"I did _not_ save your life."

Mila shrugged. "Well, you almost did. Your internal data base was fast enough to prevent...well, my death."

Nebula was growing more and more uncomfortable. She had never been complimented and thanked in one conversation.

"I see you are Ronan's voice of reason. You pointed out the flaws in his logic and tried to steer him in the right -"

But Mila never got to finish. She was pushed against the wall suddenly, with Nebula's hand around her neck.

"You can save your manipulations for Ronan. Maybe he'll fall for them."

"You must not think very highly of him, then," Mila said, struggling for breath.

Nebula's eyes widened a little, but her demeanor turned savage again. She let Mila go.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't talk much."

* * *

The virtual map was similar to the one at the Nova headquarters in Xandar. It could be downsized to show small outposts in even the minor subsystems. Once, when she was still in school and playing around after hours, she had discovered a subsystem housing a dwarf planet called Dervani; an arboreal world where trees reached the sky. It had been shocking to see so much growth, so much life, unhindered by any bipedal species. No cities, no infrastructure. A few outposts orbiting weakly, but no real surveillance. It was quiet, very quiet, but everything pulsed with life.

There was no life on this map. Only fire and decay. Explosions whose sparks leaked into outer space like stagnant, poisoned waters.

"Look closely, Xandarian. For this will be the future of your planet."

The Kyln was disintegrating before her eyes. Ronan the Accuser was standing over the oval table, watching the map with relish.

"Memorize the image. Your home will look the same soon, and you shall be grateful for it."

Mila felt a pressure in her chest, threatening to bubble out. She had to contain it, no matter what.

"The Kyln _was_ my home, too," she said, after moments of silence.

"It was an infested place, filled with the most wretched beings in the galaxy," he replied, moving his fingers over the map so that she could see further into the destruction.

"Statistically speaking, it was one of the least infested," Mila spoke absently, watching centuries of existence fade into the abyss. She did not know why at the end, she found herself defending it. The words that spilled out of her mouth were almost mechanical, and yet she felt them deeply.

"Half its prisoners were reformed and many had been charged on unfair political terms, due to military disputes between their homelands. Violence was only a product of recovery. Infestation can't take place where the antidote exists. We were the antidote." Her voice cracked slightly on the last words.

Ronan regarded her for a moment.

"I see you parrot the Nova creed with conviction. They have brainwashed the young ones and poisoned the rest."

Mila frowned. "There was no brainwashing. These are _my_ beliefs. I choose to adhere to them. Just like - just like you choose to adhere to yours."

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards briefly.

"I don't have beliefs. I have the _truth_. You cling to the foul notions of your people out of habit, but you shall see how weak they are under _duress_."

"I - I don't think so."

"Everyone succumbs to it, eventually, even the Nova Corps."

"If by "it" you mean torture, I'm afraid you are incorrect," Mila argued, but stopped abruptly, remembering Nebula's words. _If you know what's good for you, you won't talk much._

"Go on. Enlighten me, Xandarian," he beckoned, his voice laced with irony.

Mila inhaled sharply. She was not going to give him what he wanted, which was begging and tears. She was going to act like this was another difficult exam at the Nova Academy. Another test on her mental acuity. A simulation.

"Torture forces the individual to adapt to hostile surroundings, so they will ingest the captor's beliefs in order to survive. It does not mean they have given up their own. Duress proves nothing. Cultural and psychological ties are concealed and repressed, not destroyed. The individual reverts to a primal state, but that is only a defense mechanism. Complexity is shunned in the face of adversity. Therefore, you can never really know if change takes place in the individual's mind because torture reduces its mechanisms. You will only have a facsimile of change, but never the real thing."

She stopped again. She was a little out of breath. She realized she probably sounded ridiculous, quoting and misquoting what she had learned - thoughts that were both hers and not hers - but these were staples of knowledge and experience and they meant _something, _even to criminals. The Kyln had proven that to her. The Nova thinking _worked_, you just had to talk your way through it, patiently.

"The only way you can confirm someone has given up or changed their previous beliefs is if they freely commit an act which directly contradicts them, but is not done out of self-preservation. Desperate acts don't count. They must be rational and voluntary, as you must understand. Torture, therefore, is not effective in changing or eliminating beliefs," she finished, exhaling.

_Steady now. Steady._

She could go on forever. If she forced herself to talk only in facts and theory, the world around her would be transformed. And maybe he would _not_ use duress, after all.

Somewhere inside his head, underneath that dreadful helmet, there was a mind that was built exactly like hers. Maybe that mind would respond.

Ronan walked around the oval table slowly. The sound of his steps on the metal floor hammered into her head like nails on a board. He reached her seat. He stood behind her chair. He grabbed the back of it with one gloved hand. She could hear his shallow breathing, so soft she wondered if he was alive at all.

"I _must_ understand?" he echoed her words. "A Nova Prime's daughter indeed, ordering me to understand."

The mention of her mother made her skin prickle.

"I meant no disrespect."

"No, you are only _counseling_ me on how best to subdue you. You are amusing creatures, after all. In fight or in flight, you remain the same. Helpless without your protocols, defeated without your words."

He did not sound very amused. Mila shrank away. She did not know what she was meant to say next. There seemed to be no pattern. She could offend him or anger him, but she could not please him.

"Tell me, then," he continued briskly. "What do you recommend instead of duress?"

Mila looked at the burning effigy of what used to be the Kyln. Her mouth opened almost involuntarily.

"Persuasion."

She could feel his hand hovering over her head, as if he were about to snatch loose strands of hair. She looked up quickly, but it was not quick enough. Their eyes met. She was once again surprised by their warmth, detached but blazing.

"Mental persuasion with the consent of the individual. That would be...recommended," she added clumsily.

She could not distinguish his expression. The paint seemed to efface him. She was looking at a mask.

And then, before she lost all courage, she blurted out:

"I don't think you really _want_ to exterminate us."

The mask cracked a little and she could see a flicker of surprise in his glittering eyes.

"Is that so?"

"You must have a plan. Beyond – beyond complete annihilation."

Ronan's hand tightened on her chair.

"You are right. I don't wish to exterminate you."

Then, with one swift movement, he turned her chair around until she was facing the entrance of the room.

Mila saw two Sakaaran guards approaching with a prisoner. His muffled screams startled her.

They dropped him on the stone altar in the middle of the room.

When they took off the gag, his screams became words, words she would remember.

"You can't do this! Our government signed a peace treaty! We had an agreement!"

Xandarian, like her. And just like her, he invoked laws and rules and treaties, because these were things that mattered and stood the test of time.

One of the Sakaaran guards handed Ronan a large hammer, gleaming black and terrifying in its sheer weight.

Mila watched with dismay as the prisoner struggled to set himself free.

"You are a brute! A mindless brute who will never vanquish our civilization!" the man was screaming.

"I don't wish to exterminate you," Ronan repeated, looking at Mila.

She jumped out of her chair.

"Don't - !"

"I wish to _cure_ you."

His hammer fell upon the man's skull faster than she could blink. Blood pooled down on the stone slabs and spilled like rivers into the carvings around the altar, filling up every nook and cranny. The Kreean triangle stood afloat a sea of crimson.

And Ronan was still looking at her.

Mila gasped and put a hand over her mouth, as sobs raked her body.

"Persuasion," he spoke, nodding his head towards her. "As you recommended."

* * *

He was satisfied to witness a raw reaction from the perfect little Nova. She, with her empty arguments and dead thinking. She, who ignored her people's ugliness and called it reason. She, who knew nothing of the struggle of the Kree. She, whose face was now contorted in fear and pain, but whose mind was festering with the evil of her ancestors. She was a living example of why Xandar needed to be cured.

But more than that, he wanted her and Xandar to _want_ to be cured. He wanted them to see how his hammer was just retribution for their sins.

The Nova Prime, along with all the Nova Corps, would soon hear her daughter speak the real truth, _his_ truth.

As he turned away, he caught a flicker of surprise in her eyes, as if she could not quite believe he had done what he had done. That flicker was a sign of innocence, at least in matters concerning blood.

"There will be more occasions to _persuade_ you, but for now, I leave you with this first lesson."

He would have enjoyed to hear her arguments now, but he let the guards take her away.

He had business to attend to. Thanos was waiting to hear from him. The Orb needed to be found. He would have time to bend the little Nova to his will soon enough.

* * *

_**A/N**: Hello again. I'm probably repeating myself, but thank you for your responses and constructive criticism, I am stunned and very grateful. Thanks to the anonymous reviewers **Guest**, **Pan**, **Yul**, **Guest2**, **Caraglar** (agreed!) and **HarleyQuinn** for sharing their thoughts. I hope you liked this chapter. The time frame is a bit different, as you may have noticed, since in the movie, the scene with the Xandarian prisoner takes place before the destruction of the Kyln. There will be more tiny changes, so I hope no one minds. Most names of places are from the Marvel canon. I hope to hear your thoughts!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

In the days following Mila's bloody encounter with Ronan, she was transported to the lower decks with the rest of the ship's prisoners to do menial work in the bowels of the engine rooms. Although she had witnessed the enforcement of physical labor at the Kyln, she was not used to it herself. Great stamina was required even in the handling of certain heavy machinery, but the effort made her forget, for some blissful moments, what she had witnessed in the Kreean's presence.

She soon found there were many people, belonging to various races, who shared her predicament. The greatest part of them were Skrulls, whose shapeshifting abilities made it hard for her to pinpoint their original characteristics. They did not respond to her attempts at dialogue. Then there were the Sakaarans, who were constantly humiliated by having to obey orders from their own people, the Sakaaran guards. Mila had thought the latter would show pity to their brethren, but they only seemed crueller by degrees. The Sakaaran prisoners were, hence, naturally withdrawn. The friendliest prisoners were the Shi'ars, with whom she had managed to strike a conversation. They were majestic creatures, whose avian descent made their looks stand out considerably. As a race, they were known for their intelligence and meanness, but the Dark Aster had changed them. They worked the hardest and complained the least.

Mila had befriended one Shi'ar woman in particular, thanks to her ability to recognize that she was an aristocrat.

"How did you know that?" the woman had asked in astonishment.

"Your feather crest is triangular, a common feature among the nobility of the Aerie, the Shi'ar Empire."

"You are someone of learning, I gather."

"I'd hardly say so. I don't know many things about your culture, yet, Mistress Alyria."

The Shi'ar had greatly appreciated the respect and humility which the Nova Corps showed her. In return, she had helped Mila carry the carburettor packages assigned to her from the provisions pod to the engine rooms. Shi'ars could lift a ton in Xandar-like gravity, which came in handy for the nimble Nova.

Mila had told her about the Kyln and her previous work there.

"I used to look over prisoners. Now, I am one. I must admit, the reversal is not pleasant."

Alyria had commiserated. "On my planet, I was a financial advisor to one of the Three Aerie Councillors. I even worked under Majestrix Lilandra Neramani. Now, I carry waste and clean orbiter cylinders."

Both of them had fallen from grace.

Mila had never thought she would feel such empathy for the dead inmates of the Kyln. She had never dwelt too much on their everyday misery, but now she had ample time to do so. Still, in healthy Nova fashion, she did not let bad thoughts overwhelm her.

"We should form a system of support among the prisoners," she suggested. "We encouraged our inmates to consolidate relationships at the Kyln. It was beneficial to their morale and it formed a sense of community."

"Didn't that encourage prisoners to hatch plans of escape?" Alyria asked, bemused.

Mila shrugged. "They would have exercised their mental skills, but they could not have done anything else. The Kyln was impregnable."

That was, until the four oddballs had shown up and inadvertently led to the Kyln's destruction. Mila wondered almost daily where the ragtag group had escaped to, what they were doing, and whether they were still alive. Deep down, she did not want them to get caught by Ronan or anyone else. Although she should have resented them, she mostly felt curiosity and even a strange sense of kinship with the outsiders. She was one of them now, and though it was ludicrous, she sometimes dreamed of their arrival on the Dark Aster. She even imagined they would break her out.

Such thoughts were reserved for her sleepless nights. She could, in theory, come up with a plan of escape. The Dark Aster was not the Kyln. The flagship _was_ pregnable.

With Alyria and other Shi'ars on her side, she could influence the rest of their faction to support her, and perhaps, in time, she could attract more followers to consolidate a movement. But earning the trust of non-Shi'ars was excessively hard, since her physiognomy and human features betrayed her Xandarian origins, and few wanted to be seen in the company of Ronan's most loathed race.

Still, desperate times made people forget about circumstantial details and she might, after all, convince them to join her, but at what cost? And could she fully trust the Shi'ars to stand by her side? She had only befriended a handful. What if they decided she was damaged goods?

She shared some of her concerns with Alyria as they were repairing anti-slosh baffles one afternoon, but the Shi'ar seemed reluctant.

"You want to...make a union among the prisoners?"

"You don't think it's possible?"

"I don't know, but I don't think it's advisable. My people are cunning diplomats by nature, but others, like the Skrulls, will simply bite your head off."

They put on their protective masks as the liquid hydrogen tanks started rattling and cryogenic lumps of LH2 were deposited into a tube and down the pipes leading to the rocket engines.

The blue, translucent sparks turned her thoughts towards her executioner. She shook her head, pressing on with her argument.

"A common goal would put these differences aside. We would have a group united by the desire to return home, the greatest incentive of all," Mila argued passionately.

"You're an idealist, like your people. But these things are easier said than done. If I were you, I would keep my head low and wait for the right opportunity," Alyria replied guardedly.

Mila could not tell her she did not have much time to wait. Ronan the Accuser was bent on teaching her a lesson and the more she stayed on the Dark Aster, the more prone she was to future encounters.

"What about _making_ an opportunity for ourselves?"

"Only a madman would try to fight these Sakaaran guards," Alyria reasoned.

"We would not have to fight them...necessarily. There are other ways to destabilize a system."

Alyria smiled benevolently. "It's already destabilized. Or don't you know that the leader of this ship is a terrorist? What weapons could you use against him?"

Mila pretended ignorance. She did not want to acknowledge her fears in front of her ally, lest she seemed weak.

She had told no one of what she had seen Ronan do. To prevent recurring nightmares, she stayed up at night and exhausted herself with complicated Nova Corps policy issues in order to keep her mind busy. When sleep did claim victory, she would dream she was standing on the ashes of the Kyln, and he was there with her, waiting patiently with his hammer. The worst part was that _she_ had to go to _him_ to make the nightmare end. He would only move if she did. She had to submit herself to his punishment. The pain was like nothing she had ever felt. The metal came down upon her skin hard.

_Bang!_

The hammer would be soaked in her own blood.

And she would wake up shrieking, heart racing, temples throbbing.

"You don't sleep well, do you?" Alyria had remarked. "Luckily, we Shi'ars cannot dream. We are not infected by such a disease. In fact, we wiped it out a long time ago."

"How did you do that?"

"We purged our bloodlines. We suppressed the impulses. You should do the same if you wish to survive."

Mila wondered if it was better never to dream, than to dream of him.

* * *

He was in a foul mood. The meeting with Thanos had not gone well. Their encounters never did end in compromise, but this time, his anger had gotten the better of him. He had killed The Other, Thanos' trusted servant, engendering only the contempt of his master.

That is what he despised most about Thanos; his indifference. Nothing seemed to affect him, nothing seemed to provoke him, he was eternally _bored_ and whichever way Ronan's quest turned out, he would be equally unimpressed. Thanos blamed him for all failures, and gave him no credit for any success.

"_You_ have lost the Orb, not Gamora," he had told him with little consideration for the truth.

The Kreean knew he could not trust the Mad Titan, no more than he could trust the now traitorous Gamora, but until he was powerful enough to act on his own, he would need to prolong his allegiance, painful as it was.

And there was also Nebula. She was still under his command, but for how long?

"You don't have to worry about me," she had told him as they were riding back to the Dark Aster. "Until the Orb is found, I serve you."

"How can I trust that you will do so? How can I trust that you won't run like Gamora?"

"Because I hate my sister. I would _never_ follow her path."

"I need proof of your loyalty," Ronan had insisted.

"You'll have it. My sister pities the Xandarians. I'll show you I don't. When you're done with that skinny little Nova, I will kill her myself, along with her people."

"Bring her to me when we arrive. It's time for a second lesson."

His mood might not improve, but it would be a welcome respite after his journey.

_This_ would not be a failure. He was going to be merciless and in that way, he was going to be just. He had prepared two chairs, one for him and one for her. He would expose her to the _truth_ of her race.

* * *

Mila's hair was still damp from the communal showers. She could feel the drops falling down her shoulder blades through the synthetic overalls she was made to wear. Gone for good were her Nova Corps sharp looks. She would have never allowed anyone to see her in such a bedraggled state. She looked too young and vulnerable without her spick uniform, her straight, tightly coiled coif and her shining Nova sigils and ensigns.

Now when she caught a glance of her reflection in the steel doors, she saw a young girl with dirty tangled curls, sallow skin and dark circles under her eyes.

But the Nova Creed did not survive in exterior endowments. It was a state of mind, an attitude that shielded her from madness. Unbreakable, that is what a Nova Corps was supposed to be.

Her heart surged in her chest when Nebula pushed her through the familiar corridors guarded by the insect-like Sakaarans. She tried speaking to her, asking her innocent questions to test the waters ("Was your trip auspicious?", "Have there been any complaints about my work?"), all the while knowing it was pointless. She was going to see Ronan again and, no amount of goodwill would prevent that. Nebula was stubbornly ignoring her every attempt. In fact, the Luphomoid acted as if she weren't there.

"I wonder if you would have disliked me so much had I been...well, not Xandarian."

Nebula wrinkled her nose in disgust. She finally spoke.

"I would've still hated you."

Mila smiled sadly. "Does this mean that you see beyond my race? That you just hate _me_? I'd take that over discrimination."

The Luphomoid scowled. "Shut it."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you –"

"Keep quiet."

"I only think you are more than you appear -"

She was on her back before she had time to finish her sentence. Nebula held a foot over her throat.

"The only thing preventing me from breaking that pretty Xandar neck is that I couldn't break it _again_."

Mila panted. "I don't believe you."

Nebula's eyebrows furrowed with rage.

"_Try_ me."

"I don't believe you were made for violence," Mila continued, struggling to breathe. One hand coiled around Nebula's foot.

The Luphomoid stepped back as if burnt. Her black eyes mirrored her turmoil.

Mila raised herself on her elbows.

"I'm sorry I made you do that."

Nebula opened her mouth, but she seemed unable to respond. She could not understand what it was about this Nova Corps that confused her to such a degree. It made her sick and dizzy, a feeling that she thought had long been programmed out of her.

_I'm sorry I made you do that_. It didn't make sense. Why would she apologize for something she had not done?

Mila picked herself up and they continued walking in silence.

* * *

The large screen in front of her was a canvas of horrors. Mila was forced to watch without hope for relief. The Nova Corps had prepared her for enemy propaganda, but they had not prepared her for this.

She was confined to a chair and her head had been placed in a contraption that made it impossible for her to turn away. If she dared close her eyes, Ronan was nearby to discourage her.

He was sitting in the chair next to hers, a poisonous shadow waiting to attack, should she disobey. He was speaking with righteous satisfaction about the crimes of her people, while his hammer rested menacingly at his feet.

"There is your great civilization. Destroying Kreean outposts, setting fire to Kreean homes, dispossessing my people for their pleasure."

Mila swallowed thickly.

She recognized the Xandarian built of the soldiers on screen. They were shooting down a much weaker Kreean battalion that was trying to defend a village. She knew the protocol for such cases. The enemy footage was usually shown out of context and therefore, manipulated. Falling trap to such cheap ploys was beneath Xandarian thinking. And yet, his presence imbued the narrative with terror and she felt herself succumbing to it. The burning Kreean houses reminded her of the Kyln's ashes.

She watched as Nova Corps separated Kreean children from their families and embarked them on aircrafts en route to Xandar. She had heard of this practice before, but in the capital, it had been presented as a good and generous deed. Almost a duty. They were doing those children a service, taking them away from hostile war environments, providing security, rehabilitating them back into galactic society. They weren't _slaughtering_ them, like Ronan did to Xandar younglings.

"And what happened to those children the Xandarians took from us years ago?" Ronan asked in a darkly humorous voice.

The next scene showed a mass exodus of all Xandar citizens of Kreean-descent. Some were resisting arrest, others submitted humbly, nodding their head in foreknowledge.

"That's not fair! We had to implement that measure after your terrorist attacks!" she blurted out, feeling a sharp pang of anger in her chest. "It was _you_ who did this. Not us."

She could not see his face, but she _felt_ his sharp fingers, digging into her hair, pushing her head forward.

"The more poison you speak, the harder it will be for you."

She yelped when he tugged painfully.

She had never deceived herself into thinking the Nova Corps were faultless. Their past was not stainless, but they were the ones who tried to _fix_ their mistakes. They were repentant. Were others? _Was he?_

He let go of her, but her scalp felt like an open wound.

The screen had now changed and she was looking at a sumptuous feasting ceremony, taking place in a Kreean temple of worship. Mila recognized the famous religious outpost at the very edge of the Kreean empire. She had read about it in the Nova history books. It had been turned into a military camp by a group of Kreean radicals.

Mila watched in morbid fascination as the procession of important men and women, all dressed in silver robes, circled the temple, bearing blue sceptres and chanting an ancient-sounding song. Their alabaster heads shone ethereally in the cold rays of the Hala's artificial sun. The capital planet could be seen from miles away like a bright star in the yellow sky.

Right in the middle of this procession, she saw a young man turn and wave at the sky spasmodically.

"Look up!"

She did not recognize him at first, but then she heard Ronan's booming voice beside her.

"I was there when it started."

Mila froze. She only caught a glimpse of the young Ronan before the sky was invaded with aircrafts. He was just another Kreean in a crowd, nothing threatening or terrible about him. He stood out in height and built, but he wore no headgear, no black makeup. He was soon lost in the midst of hysteria and she could not make him out again. The only thing she remembered was the lost look in his eye.

The aircrafts were Nova Corps of Kyln design. Dozens of spiraulics, of the kind she herself had ridden on the night of the security breach, burst out of the crafts' mouths.

She was expecting to see fellow Corpsmen and women driving them, but she was shocked to find that they were packed with inmates. They all wore their prison uniforms. And they carried weapons.

"Wait. This isn't possible. No dispatch like this could have been approved. No prisoners are ever allowed off premises," she spoke mechanically, refusing to believe that what she saw was real.

_Our past may not be stainless, but...we show remorse. We fix our mistakes,_ she repeated numbly in her head.

Ronan laughed a cold, sinister laugh.

"Your second lesson in persuasion, Xandarian. Everything you believe in is _worthless_. Everything you know is _wrong_."

Mila tried to wrench her head away, but she was stuck. Her muscles were crying out, but she could not move.

The prisoners shouted with happy rage and, disembarking their spiraulics, proceeded to shoot at the Kreean priests and priestesses.

"This - this is not our fault. We wouldn't teach them to do this," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "It must have been an accident. It's not - real."

"Open your eyes," Ronan spoke harshly._  
_

"The Nova records would not write falsehoods. They would not tamper with facts. We have a duty to uphold. Please! This is a lie."

"_Open them!_"

She did, and she saw Kreean blood pooling on the steps of the temple.

"Do you know who foresaw this operation?"

Suddenly, the screen changed and she was looking at the Nova Prime, Irani Rael. Her mother. She was sitting down with two Kyln emissaries. She recognized them. Rhomann Dey and Denarian Saal. The two Nova Corpsmen she had looked up to ever since she had been transferred to the Kyln.

Corpsman Dey pointed at a piece of paper, lying on the table before them. Her mother signed her name at the bottom.

"No. No, this isn't right! Why are you showing me this? This is forgery. This is false! She would never do this! She would never condone this!" Mila expelled in a spasm.

Her outburst made her forget where she was. She grabbed hold of Ronan's gloved hand and squeezed hard.

He returned her grip and crushed her fingers inside his.

"Everything you believe in is worthless. Everything you know is wrong. And everyone you admire and love..._is a murderer_," he spoke in a chilling voice that made her blood stop in her veins.

He let go of her hand. Mila crumbled inside herself. Her mind was running in circles, trying to find the logic behind these images, trying to put the pieces back in order. The Nova thinking worked, you just had to talk your way through it, patiently. Isn't that what she always said?

_He's wrong...these are lies...there is no proof...it can't be true. Our past isn't stainless, but...  
_

"This is only the beginning. In time, you will _beg_ me to end the misery your people. You will beg me to rid the Galaxy of their crimes."

Mila looked at her mother's calm face, the snow-white hair, the brilliant grey eyes. She knew it wasn't true. She wanted it not to be true.

The Nova Creed was good, the Nova Creed was kind.

Yet in the pit of her stomach, he had planted doubt.

* * *

The hair. It was a child's hair. Coarse damp curls and ringlets that did not belong on a Xandarian's head. A strange compulsion had made him want to touch it, to pull at it and see whether it falls. She may have lost her Nova garb, but she could not fool him. Beyond these layers of fragility lay a perverse creature.

He tugged at it, wrapping the locks around his knuckles, and dug his fingers into her scalp, feeling the pressure, the blood pounding inside her skull. A delicious warmth.

When he pulled his hand away, he saw beads of water on his glove.

And when she reached out and grabbed his hand, she wiped them away.

He gripped her hand tightly in his, feeling again that warmth; a small animal caught in a trap. After the lifeless encounter with Thanos, the pulse of dwindling life was almost intoxicating.

He released her before he broke her bones.

He wanted to break her spirit, first. He had already chipped away at it, but he wanted _more_.

* * *

_**A/N**: Hello again. I'm sorry for the late update, I've been swamped with school. I was really floored by all your supportive reviews and comments, they were very helpful and constructive! Thanks to the anonymous reviewers **Friendly Anon, HarleyQuinn** (very true about the quote & thanks for checking weekly!), **Yul, zoe24, Guest, Dancing Gypsy.** Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Most of the names, places and characters are taken from the Marvel canon. I hope you like it!_


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